(I do not own My Chemical Romance, Gerard Way, or Bert Mccracken. I am simply a writer of fiction that makes this stuff up for my own devious satisfaction. Please guys, don't steal this one. I really like it.)

I won't pretend to think that I ever knew you.

For our entire relationship, I was so sure that I knew what made you tick. It's only now that you're gone that I realize that I knew nothing about you.

You knew me better than I knew myself, which is an overplayed thing to say. I think that when I looked into your deep blue eyes, you were telling me my future.

But I never listened to you.

You let me talk to you.

You listened, or at least pretended to.

Sometimes I saw how bored I was making you. I asked you what was wrong, and you told me that you were just tired. You blamed lack of sleep. What you were doing aside from sleeping, I never asked. I don’t know why I never asked you more questions. Maybe I was scared of the answers.

Sometimes we would stay up late talking to each other. You'd listen to what I said. You would make me laugh by cracking a joke about the way I worded things. You always said I confused my nouns and verbs together. That I thought too fast.

Sometimes you helped me to slow down.

You told me that alcohol is a depressant. That it makes the brain calm down and stop going crazy. I listened to that part.

So we drank. Almost every night, we found a way to score.

You were always so excited when you got me drunk. You liked to watch me wobble and you liked it when I giggled.

I only giggle when I'm drunk. You always giggled. It was high and slightly scary, but I grew to love it quickly.

You would sometimes sneak up behind me and grab me around the waist. It was startling, but you'd tell me it was okay and that it was just you - and I would relax.

Sometimes you kissed me.

When you kissed me the first time, I was more confused than anything. I didn't know why you had done it. I didn't know what I had done to make you kiss me. We were just sitting in my basement, watching some horror film that you said was banned in the US. I never really found out if that was true or not, but I never asked.

Your kisses came in two different varieties.

Sometimes they were incredibly firm, hard pecks. You would grab me by my face and pull me in - I always thought it was funny how we were basically the same height - and press your lips to mine.

Other times you were trying to choke me with your tongue.

Over time, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I haven't kissed anyone but you in the last five years.

I remember how dirty you were when I first saw you. I was going to class and passed you on the street. You were sitting in front of some condemned building, your long, over dyed, black, stringy hair in your eyes - your scraggly, uneven scruff which was basically peach fuzz. You were a natural blonde. You said it didn't fit you. You couldn't be more than twenty, but you looked like you had seen the world burn.

You asked me for a light. And something to light. You grinned at me like we were old friends, and I couldn't help but decide to just miss class and take a seat beside you. I admired you as the toxic smoke billowed from between your chapped lips. The smoke looked so soft.

You didn't ask me what my name was.

I don't think it mattered.

When you moved in with me, I realized why you looked so weathered.

Your habits, you said, were a product of your upbringing. You never told me about your parents. If you had a dad, I bet he left you when you were seven. And I bet you got made fun of in middle school.

Kids don't start using unless they are bored and rich - or poor and desperate.

You were homeless.

Three years passed, and the giggles stopped. The drinking kept up - but there was no more laughter.

Your eyes became hollow. I didn't know how to save you.

You said that the neighbors knew about us. Knew what we were. What we did. That it was wrong. Because I was a boy, too.

I told you to stop being paranoid. I didn't want to listen to you.

You made me listen to you when the gun went off. But it was too late to ask you to explain.